


Wheel in the Sky

by DasMervin, MrsHyde (DasMervin)



Series: The Writing on the Wall [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dean in Denial, Dean is a sap, Domestic Castiel, Dry Humping, Emotional, Emotional Constipation, Exhaustion, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Frantic Sex, Frottage, Headcanon, Homecoming, Homophobic Language, Human Castiel, Internalized Homophobia, Loneliness, M/M, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Slash, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:11:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasMervin/pseuds/DasMervin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DasMervin/pseuds/MrsHyde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mark of Cain keeps Dean on the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wheel in the Sky

_April 2020_

“Hey, Dean—wake up.”

And Dean did, jerking against the rough hand shaking his shoulder, cracking open his gummed-up eyes to see a very large, blurry shape leaning over him that slowly coalesced into his brother. Not a very welcome sight when he’d just been somewhere off in the mountains with Raquel Welch covered in chocolate sauce not two seconds ago. Oh, well.

“Come on, Dean,” Sam said, standing back up, and from Dean’s prone position, he looked about ten feet tall. Well, good for him—it didn’t matter if he really was ten feet tall, he was still the runty little snot who used to wet the bed. Dean was the _big_ brother around here and that was that.

“We gotta hit the road, man,” Sam continued, and Dean nodded vaguely in his direction, dragging himself up into a sitting position—no little feat on the saggy old couch he was sunk into.

Dean managed to get his feet on the ground, but one look at the wall clock told him he’d only gotten about four hours of sleep. He slumped where he sat, scrubbing a tired hand over his face.

This _sucked_.

Almost three months. Three fucking _months_ on the road without a break. He had no friggin’ idea what had flown up the ass of every supernatural shit-sucker from coast to coast, but something sure had. These days, it seemed like they hadn’t even finished one job before they had another already lined up, ghosts and wraiths and demons and even a fucking demigod again, popping up across the country like the world’s biggest game of Whack-a-Mole. And there he and Sam were, scrambling to chase them down, driving from one end of the map to the other with hardly a chance to rest between, even with Bobby doling the jobs out to other hunters who’d call and tackling a few himself.

There didn’t look to be any end in sight, either. Dean had just come off of a hard drive all the way up from Arizona, one that had been so long and hard that at the end of it he’d been nodding off at the wheel and had actually been the one to suggest that Sammy take over for the last leg. They’d stumbled into Bobby’s house at four in the morning and Dean had staggered up the stairs to crash on the couch; he’d been out cold before his head hit the pillow.

Only problem was that this wasn’t a break either. Nope, they couldn’t possibly be so lucky—when they’d called to check in after they’d wrapped up their latest hunt in Arizona, Bobby had informed them that he’d uncovered a pattern of disappearances over in upstate New York that looked like the start of a waking cycle of a goddamn Wendigo. Now, Bobby may have been refusing to get old, but he wasn’t crazy enough to think he could take on one of those bastards at his age. As such, it had fallen to Sam and Dean. _Again._ They’d detoured through South Dakota to get the whole scoop—and for a place to sleep—and now they had to get moving again so they could get over there before another poor schmuck got nabbed to be a light lunch. That meant they’d barely had any time to get any shuteye before they had to get back out on the road again.

This sucked _ass_.

The worst part was that he knew what it was—that fucking Mark on their backs. They’d made the mistake of hanging out at Bobby’s for nearly a month of dry-spell, just sort of lounging around the house and relaxing. Well, that goddamn curse must have decided they’d been “settled” long enough and decided to blast them up and out. _Get to wanderin’, boys_ , it said, and now here Dean was running on four hours of sleep in the last twenty-four and about ready to just cash it in right now.

Dean yawned, looking longingly down at the couch—the lumpy old piece of crap had never looked so inviting. But he just sighed and lurched to his feet.

A pit stop including a splash of cold water did improve his outlook— _slightly_ —but what he really needed was caffeine, and lots of it. A shot of whiskey wouldn’t hurt, either. He didn’t bother shaving and he figured his clothes would manage another day or two before he got too funky to share space with, so he just stumbled down the stairs as-is.

Sam and Bobby were sitting down at the kitchen table, and if Dean hadn’t been so exhausted, he would have punched Sammy in the face for having the nerve to look so alert. The bitch. As it were, he just sort of fell into an empty chair and blinked stupidly at them before asking, “So—what’s the deal?”

“Looks like a Wendigo, all right,” Sam said resignedly. “Up in the Adirondacks—it’s old Algonquin territory. Bobby dug up newspaper clippings that go back into the 1800s—every thirty or so years, people disappear into the woods. No witnesses, but chewed bones have turned up in the area. Lots of natural caves up there, too.”

Dean looked down at the spread of copied newsprint. “Shit,” he said sourly.

Sam nodded in wry agreement.

“Woods are full of hunters, and camping season’s in full swing, so that means plenty of meat,” Bobby added, the little ray of sunshine that he always was. “Best get up there quick and put it down before it does any more damage.”

Dean grimaced and stood; he’d heard enough. So he just crossed the kitchen for the coffee pot. It was fresh, Praise Jesus, and after he’d poured himself a mug and taken a drink, he just sat there for a moment, leaning against the counter with his eyes closed, enjoying the warm bitterness, and imagining he could feel The Water of Life just moving all through him. The Sleeper Must Awaken, and all that. He only shook himself out of his little standing catnap at the sound of light footsteps on the back stairs. He opened his eyes in time to see a mountain of laundry coming up from downstairs on two skinny legs.

He couldn’t help his tiny smirk at the sight of Cas staggering out of the basement under the weight of the basket—and said smirk was no small part due to the fact that it was the first time he’d seen him since they got in. Cas had already been in bed asleep when they’d gotten in last night—four in the morning was way too late for Cas, ‘cause he was a wimp who had to be in bed by nine to get his beauty sleep. But it wasn’t just the first time this trip, either—it was pretty much the first time Dean had seen him in a _month_.

Dean’s face dropped into a scowl at the thought. That was right—a _month_ since he and Sam had had a chance to stop off at the home base and just relax. And yeah, so what if relaxing did include fooling around with Cas. But there hadn’t been any of _that_ in a month, either. No, there hadn’t been any of anything in _three fucking months_. No wonder he was so pissed off these days—Dean had needs, goddammit.

Dean took an angry drink of his coffee, forgetting it was too hot for that and burning his mouth on it—he almost spit it out, but managed to keep it down and glared down into his cup as Cas disappeared into the library. He and Cas doing their thing was all he was getting these days, only these days he wasn’t even getting that. He and Sam had only managed to swing by the house two or three times before during this hellacious few months, but only because Bobby’s was just a cheaper and safer pit stop on their route anyway, and even then it had only been for a night. But Dean had always been so completely worn out every time they’d stopped in that he’d had to make the painful admission that he wasn’t in any shape for any messing around. All he wanted was to go to sleep the minute they hit Bobby’s, and the minute he woke up, they’d be knee-deep in research for some new case, or just right back out on the road again. That wasn’t to say Dean was inventive, though. He had managed to slip into Cas’s room after him once or twice for a quick make-out and a bit of a grope, but that didn’t count. If anything, it just made things worse—it just teased him a little but never got anything taken care of. Not to mention just reminded him of what he wasn’t getting.

Fuck it all, anyway.

Dean slouched back to the table and dropped gracelessly into his seat as he tried to stir up his brains enough to concentrate on the maps and stuff laid out on the table in front of him. Thank God for Bobby—and for Cas, for that matter. Everything was neat and organized, all the clippings stacked in piles in chronological order, the map marked with little flags, and Dean recognized Cas’s painfully neat writing marking the sites and dates of all the disappearances in the past.

“Sam?” They all looked up at the sound of Cas’s voice. He was standing in the doorway, his laundry pile somewhat diminished. “I put your clothes out on the couch,” he informed him, and then turned to Dean and added, “I’ll put yours upstairs with your bag.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam said easily.

Dean had to cough to clear his throat so he could gruffly add, “Yeah, uh, thanks, Cas.” Cas just nodded and turned around to march up the stairs with his load. God, Bobby had all but turned him into a full-on maid service.

Well, whatever—they had a job to do. Dean shook himself and went back to their maps. The disappearances over the years formed a rough circle, centered somewhere deep in the northern Adirondacks. In the end they’d decided to start their search in Utica; seemed it had been a popular stop for a lot of campers headed into the woods to camp, and that included a group that’d gone missing just a few days ago. Dean had lobbied to go check out Lake Placid, just, well, because, but Sam was a killjoy and wouldn’t have any of it. So Utica it would be, and after they scoped things out, they’d probably have to start wading into all the state parks to see if they could find the bastard. At least this time they knew what they’d be up against, so they’d be armed with their standard homemade flamethrowers, which Bobby had already put together this morning, and Dean was bringing a flare gun, just in case.

“Well—I guess that’s it, then,” Sam finally said, to Dean’s relief—his eyes were starting to cross. Sam stood to start shuffling papers and stuff into a stack to take with them. “We can get on the road, go take this thing out.”

Dean just kinda sat there; staying still for so long had more or less lulled him back into a sleepy stupor, and he’d have to gather himself to actually get up again. Sam, of course, had no such trouble, and after stuffing everything in his backpack, marched into the library to his couch.

Dean’s eyes had drifted shut, but he jumped when a sharp kick was delivered to the leg of his chair, and opened his eyes to glare at Bobby’s half-annoyed, half-concerned look. “You okay, boy?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Dean said, his voice short as he stood abruptly. “I’m just tired. I’ll be fine when I get back out on the road.”

“Why don’t you let Sam drive, then?” Bobby suggested; Dean didn’t deign to respond, except with a death glare, and then shuffled out of the kitchen.

Sam was standing by his couch, and was packing away the last of the neatly stacked laundry into his duffle bag. He looked up when he saw Dean standing there and said, “Go on, then—go get your stuff, and we’ll get out of here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said, only the last “yeah” was pretty well lost in a large yawn, and since he had zero desire to stick around to hear Sam’s commentary on it, he turned to clump up the stairs. He went straight down the hall towards his back room. The door was standing open, as it had been last night when he’d dragged himself up here. He’d left his backpack downstairs—and if he wasn’t so tired, he’d have been pretty pissed when he’d seen that someone had gotten his mitts all over his guns without permission while he’d been asleep. He didn’t care if they had only been cleaning them, there were some things you did not touch that were another dude’s. But that aside, he’d just dropped his duffle inside the door to his room. He supposed he’d had some vague idea of needing a change of clothes, or of possibly getting a shower, but obviously that hadn’t happened.

Either way, though, his duffle wasn’t where he was pretty sure he’d left it, right inside of the door. He figured Cas must have snuck in here when Dean was still asleep to get his laundry in the first place, except now it was sitting on the empty couch, where it definitely hadn’t been when Dean woke up.

It was also suspiciously fat, and when Dean crossed the floor and flipped back the unzipped top, he found it already full and packed. His shirts were in precise squares and tucked into one corner, his pants were folded on the seam and put in the opposite corner, all his socks were in matched pairs and his shorts were in tight rolls, and everything was neatly stacked to stay folded and ready to go.

That anal-retentive _dork_. What, did Cas think Dean couldn’t pack for himself? Or maybe Dean’s habit of just shoving what he needed in his bag just wasn’t _good_ enough for Mister Poppins, was that it? He thinks it’s time to play Tidy Up the Nursery ‘cause Dean couldn’t do it himself? Dean roughly zipped up his bag, growling under his breath through his tight throat, and then grabbed the straps and hauled it up over his shoulder.

Cas’s door had been halfway pulled to, and on the way down the hall to his room, all Dean had seen was the back of the door. On his way back up to the stairs, though, he could see a slice inside—more importantly, he could see Cas moving around in there. Without thinking about it, he reached out to push the door further open.

It only creaked when you closed it, so Cas didn’t hear anything and just kept doing what he was doing with his back to Dean. The big basket of laundry was sitting on his bed, half full, and the rest had been divided up into neat stacks by color and what kind of clothing it was, with pants in one place and T-shirts in the other like that. Cas himself was standing by an opened ironing board, and neatly ironed shirts were dangling from hangers at one side, while Cas was—oh, he _wasn’t_.

Yeah, he totally was. He had just folded up another ironed T-shirt and added it to the pile and now was very seriously laying out a pair of shorts on the board.

Cas was ironing his underwear.

Dean just stared at him as he merrily went about his business, fucking ironing his _underwear_ —‘cause he was here at Bobby’s and that was what he did, obsessively did his chores and helped Bobby research and sometimes went on hunts, while Dean was out driving across the whole fucking country and couldn’t get a break to come back here and see him.

_To hell with this._

Dean stepped into the room, dropping his duffle just inside the doorway. Cas didn’t jump, but he looked up in surprise, setting the iron back down on the board. “Dean?” he asked unsurely as Dean advanced, reaching around behind him to very solidly shut the door. Cas had just turned to face him completely, his expression still questioning, when Dean’s hand shot out, grabbed him by the arm, and hauled him forward.

Cas was nearly lifted off his feet as he slammed into Dean, but Dean didn’t care—all he cared about was grabbing that warm, skinny little body and getting every inch of it pressed up against him. His arm was already around his shoulders, one hand in Cas’s hair, and he quickly found Cas’s mouth with his own. Dean jerked Cas’s head to the side and his nose mashed against Cas’s cheek but who the fuck cared, ‘cause it was _Cas_. He could taste him and his mouth was already open and Dean felt his scrawny arms lock around his shoulders—he wasn’t wasting any time either. His tongue was out and against Dean’s and he let out a grunt when Dean jerked him even tighter to him, trying to get closer even though they couldn’t and just kept kissing him ‘til he couldn’t _breathe_.

They both gasped for air when Dean had to let go, but that was all Dean gave him, crushing his lips back against his own the minute he got a lungful of air, their teeth clicking as he lunged forward. Cas’s hands were scrabbling furiously against his back; the moron was trying to fucking climb him like a monkey on a stick, and Dean nearly over-balanced when Cas’s leg hooked over his hip. He grabbed him tight around the middle and lurched backward, and his backwards lurching became forward shoving as he spun them and it only took a step or two more until Cas’s back hit the wall with a thump.

Cas broke away then, gasping, “ _Dean_ ,” but Dean just yanked his head back by the hair.

“Shut up,” he muttered, and then they were kissing again.

Cas’s hands were still wildly groping across Dean’s back, bunching his shirt up around his shoulders, his fingers leaving burning trails over the skin they bared. With his own back braced again the wall, Cas’s leg was up around Dean’s hip once more. Without thinking, Dean’s hands found his ass, hauling him upwards and lifting him off the floor, and Cas’s other leg came up too, and now all his arms and legs were wrapped around Dean like a goddamn boa constrictor, Dean’s hands gripping his ass. One of Cas’s hands found the back of Dean’s neck to tilt his head back because Cas was above him now, and Dean leaned back so he wouldn’t have to break away because he didn’t want to stop kissing him, his tongue straining forward, Cas’s breath in his mouth, his heart hammering in his ears, and Cas in his arms.

It was all lips and tongues and teeth and panting breath until Dean’s grip started slipping. Cas was sliding downward and that was not acceptable—he leaned forward to try and keep him up, but that just wound up pressing his hips forward between Cas’s spread legs. Dean’s breath hitched at the sudden unexpected sensation, but it was a _fan-fucking-tastic_ unexpected sensation, so he just ground his hips into Cas’s crotch again. Cas gasped against him but didn’t stop his kisses, his legs tightening around Dean’s middle, and when Dean rocked his hips forward again, he could feel Cas’s boner, and fuck if Dean wasn’t hard too.

Dean strained forward, bracing one arm against the wall, the other tight around Cas’s hips. Cas squeezed his legs and arched his back, forcing his own hips forward from the wall to rub his hard-on against Dean’s, his fingers tight in his hair. Dean’s hips jerked forward on their own, rubbing too, and _fuck_ , this wasn’t gonna work—he couldn’t hold him up like this because the little bastard wasn’t a chick. He let go of Cas’s ass, sliding his arm up around his middle to brace him as he let him drop. Cas’s legs let go and he tottered a little as his feet found the floor, but Dean kept him from falling over. With Cas’s feet back on the ground, Dean wasn’t held back by his hips and he lunged forward, mashing Cas against the wall again, and now Dean was the one forcing Cas’s chin up so he could kiss him. But he’d let him go now and was just holding him where he was with his own weight, every inch of them pressed together, Dean’s arms pressed tight against the wall behind his head. That kept Cas pinned where Dean wanted him, but he was still squirming and he was still groping, wildly squeezing and clawing all over Dean’s back and his butt.

Dean’s hands found Cas’s narrow hips, grinding forward against him just once more, but then he was fumbling for his pants. Son of a _bitch_ , why the fuck was Cas wearing a fucking _belt_? He never wore those! Dean’s fingers were barely working, and he growled “ _Shit_ ,” into Cas’s mouth as he fought with the fucking thing. _Finally_ he got it unbuckled, shoving it out of the way and going for Cas’s jeans now. By then, Cas had woken up and wasn’t groping his ass anymore—now he was scrabbling at Dean’s fly too even as Dean tore open Cas’s button and forced the zipper down, pushing his pants open with the jingling of his belt buckle. The second Cas’s shaking fingers had his own fly down Dean slammed his hips forward, and they both groaned against each other at the feeling—no more rough jeans in the way, no, they were just separated by two thin layers of flannel.

But that even that was too fucking much. He didn’t want jeans or flannel or _anything_ between his prick and Cas’s. Dean wormed his shaking hand back between them and yanked Cas’s underwear down, and then shoved his down in front too, and then oh, _fuck_ yes, Cas was so _hot_ , all hard flesh and soft skin against his aching cock. Dean rocked his hips forward, quick and desperate, straining against Cas as he chased that feeling again because _fucking Christ_ , he needed it. Cas was panting, moving his hips too, and Dean kept fucking _missing_ , bumping his belly with his dick instead of where he wanted it, and Cas kept poking him too. With a growl he reached down and just grabbed Cas’s prick, holding him still, and then he rocked his hips again, and could only moan at the slow slide of their cocks together.

Dean got his thumb out and around his own prick, jerking Cas even as he thrust his hips forward, his hand keeping them tight together, and Cas whimpered, finally breaking away from their bruising kisses, his head rocking back and forth against the wall. But then Dean’s eyes closed and a thick grunt was wrung out of his throat as he felt Cas’s hot fingers wrapping around his cock as well, gripping Dean just the way Dean was gripping him. His hips were bumping forward too, and Dean’s free arm snaked around Cas’s middle and pulled him sharply forward to kiss him again, _making_ him kiss him again as they thrust roughly against each other.

_Fuck_ , he couldn’t get fucking _close_ enough. He yanked Cas even tighter against him, squeezing the breath out of him and breathing it himself, shoving his tongue as far in Cas’s hot mouth as it would go. Their hips were moving fast and frenzied, his fingers tightening on their dicks, and Cas was making those noises, those little breathless moans. _Shit_ , Dean’s balls were already going tight but he couldn’t stop it—but he didn’t want to, because he _wanted_ to come, wanted to come here, with _Cas_ , so all he could do was squeeze tighter and jerk his hand faster and frantically bump his hips forward. Then Cas pulled away again and said his name, moaning it as if in pain, and then Dean felt him coming, hot spurts on his fingers, and he buried his face in the crook of Cas’s neck and furiously pumped his hips against him, and his fingers were hot and slippery, Cas’s cock was hot and slippery, and _fuck_ yes, that was it, there, _there_ , Dean was coming— _yes_ , he was coming, all over his hand, all over Cas’s prick and his hips and _fuck_ , Cas, _yes_!

An incoherent string of curses escaped him, but it was all muffled against the skin of Cas’s neck, and they stood there, frozen against each other for just a moment more. Dean finally just kind of sagged, and Cas did too, but he stayed where he was because Dean slumped forward and squished him against the wall.

The room was quiet; the only sound was their harsh breathing. Cas’s pulse was thumping rapidly in Dean’s ear where he was still leaning his head down against his neck. Dean’s eyes had closed, and dammit, he wanted to move even less than he had this morning when Sam had come and woken him up. He tried moved his thumb from where it was curled around his softening dick only to find Cas’s sticky fingers still wrapped around it too. So he just sorta stopped trying to let go, instead brushing his thumb back and forth over the backs of Cas’s fingers and not bothering moving his hand up from around their dicks, not even caring that his hand was wet.

Dean’s other hand, which had been gripping Cas’s back tightly all during their…whatever that was, had relaxed and slipped down to the small of his back, his favorite place to rest it. He rubbed it gently back and forth, Cas’s back warm beneath his shirt, until his fingers brushed the loose waist of his open jeans. Didn’t take too much deliberation for him to slip his fingertips below the hem, and he felt the top of Cas’s asscrack poking out above the waistband of his shorts from where Dean had pulled them down. Well, it only made sense to push down into his shorts too, so he could get himself a handful of angel-butt.

Cas sighed softly; his head had come to rest on Dean’s shoulder, his other hand still loosely wrapped around the back of Dean’s neck. See? It wasn’t just him that didn’t want to move, so he had to sit here for at least a little bit longer.

But just a little bit; Dean rubbed his closed eyes on the warm skin of Cas’s neck and sighed. He had to get out of here; Cas was just gonna have to deal. “I have to go,” he murmured, giving Cas’s ass a little squeeze.

Cas’s fingers just tightened on his neck, and Dean rolled his eyes. Trust Cas not to take a hint.

Cas swallowed rather noisily, and then Dean felt his soft breath on his neck as he whispered, “I…miss you.”

Dean’s stomach clenched; he closed his eyes tight again, pressing against Cas’s neck, and swallowed too before he managed to hoarsely answer, “Yeah—I know.”

He sighed again, and finally just pulled his hand out of Cas’s pants and hove himself away from the wall and away from Cas, hissing a little as their hands slid away from his still over-sensitive prick before turning around and looking down to survey the damage. It was pretty minimal—Dean had managed to catch pretty much all of Cas’s load on his fingers. It was disgusting, of course, but at least it wasn’t on his clothes. He stumped over to Cas’s night table and grabbed a wad of tissues to scrub off his fingers—and his junk, he realized with a grimace. After he’d caught it, he’d smeared it all over everywhere. And just because he was pretty sure he’d caught everything, that didn’t mean he didn’t make a _very_ thorough inspection of his clothes; his face was starting to heat up rather unpleasantly as his exhausted brain had finally managed to make the connection that he had come up here to _pack_ , because they were about to leave for a _job_ , and that Sam was still down there, awake and aware and waiting for him—and he’d been up here bumping dicks with Cas.

Clearing his throat noisily, he righted his pants, tucking in his shirt and zipping up, and then just leaned over to grab his bag. He nearly opened to door, but froze and whirled around to look at Cas—oh, thank God. He’d just finished mopping up and was zipping up his pants too.

_Wake up, Winchester_ , he growled to himself. _You’re at Bobby’s house, dipshit—and you just tried to open the fucking door while Cas’s dick could’ve been hanging out._

But it wasn’t anymore, so Dean swung open the door and loudly clattered down the stairs. Sam was leafing through a stack of paper, standing by the back door, his bags at his feet. “You ready?” he called, not looking up.

“Yeah, I said I was,” Dean said sharply. He _did_ say it, and now here he was, so they could go. “Just had to pack.”

“Okay,” Sam said, nodding vaguely but still not looking up.

Dean scowled at him, but couldn’t hold it, because his—previous activities caught up with him in the form of a bone-cracking yawn.

When he got his mouth closed and his eyes opened again, he saw Bobby looking at him with a gimlet eye. “Watch him,” he said pointedly to Sam, although he was still looking at Dean. “He’s liable to doze off at the wheel and send you both head-first into somebody’s barn.”

Dean gave him an extremely dirty look and was about to tell Bobby just what he could do with that statement, but he lost his concentration and felt his neck flushing at the sound of Cas’s footsteps coming down the stairs behind him. He coughed a little and quickly crossed the floor, scooping up his backpack off the chair where it rested with his free hand. “Well, come on, then,” he said to the floor. “Let’s get outta here, go put that cannibalizing son of a bitch down.”

Sam glanced up. “Yeah—I’m ready,” he said, and then turned around to put away his stack of paper and haul up his own bags. “Bobby, we’ll be in touch—thanks for the laundry, Cas,” he called over his shoulder. “We’ll see you guys,” he said as he headed out the door.

Dean flicked his eyes over at Cas and immediately regretted it because his face got even hotter, so he just cleared his throat again to cover and said, “Yeah—we’ll see you guys later. Well, we will if we can ever get a fucking _break_ ,” he growled.

“You’ll get a break when you’re dead, boy,” Bobby said dryly. “But sometime before then you should get a day or two off, and we’ll be holdin’ down the fort meanwhile.”

Dean made a disgruntled noise of agreement, and then just headed out, with a casual, “Well, see you around then, Bobby, Cas.”

Dammit, what the hell did Cas think he was doing, calling that pathetic little, “Goodbye, Dean,” back at him with Bobby standing fucking right there?!

Growling under his breath, he stomped out to the car and unlocked the trunk, tossing in his own bags, and Sam chucked his own in on top of them. He dropped the trunk lid closed with a bang and started around to get into the driver’s side only to find Sam giving him a knowing look over the top of the trunk. Blood slammed into his face, the hair standing up on the back of his neck. “ _What?!_ ” he barked.

“I’ll drive, Dean,” he offered calmly.

Dean blinked at him. Sam was still talking. “You did most of the driving last night—I got some sleep in the car before, so I’m feeling fine. You seriously are still tired—why don’t you let me take the first leg and you can catch up on your sleep. You won’t be any good up against a Wendigo if you can’t keep your eyes open.”

Dean glowered at him, but all he really felt was relief. And anyway, why not let Sammy drive? He’d been in charge of Dean’s baby before—and it wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of Dean to be driving her in the shape he was in anyway. And he did want to go back to sleep, doubly so since he’d gone and piled a dose of good, old-fashioned, sex-induced sleepiness on top of his previous fatigue.

Not that he was about to let Sam know that he’d had a good idea. “Yeah, okay, fine,” he grunted, tossing the keys over the top of the car. “But if you think that means you can put on some of that douchebag music you listen to, you’ve got another thing coming.” He crossed to the passenger’s side and got in, slamming his door shut.

“I didn’t think you had a problem with Air Supply,” Sam said nonchalantly as the engine roared to life.

Dean paused where he’d been wadding up his jacket into a makeshift pillow to give the little shit a one-finger salute, and then very pointedly laid his head down against the door and closed his eyes.

Once he got in a nap, he didn’t think he’d be feeling quite so crappy anymore.


	2. Walk Through Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean comes home.

_June 26, 2020_

The weapons were serviced and cleaned. The car was unloaded. His belly was full and his clothes were in the dryer. And now Dean’s schedule was _cleared_. It was time to just _relax_.

He knew exactly what was at the top of that list, too. Jesus Christ, he was just _tired_. All the months on the road and the Mark of Cain driving him all over the nation had finally caught up with him, and now that he didn’t have anything else to do, he was just ready to sleep. He saw that Sam had already beaten him to it, too, crashing on the sofa downstairs while Dean had sat at the kitchen table and started a reread of _The Sirens of Titan_. Sam had the right idea, though. Dean marked his place with a scrap of paper and set the book aside, quietly getting up from the table and stretching as high as his fingertips could reach.

Yeah. Definitely sleep. After the hellish five months he’d just had, there really was very little he could think of that would make him happier.

He switched off the light in the kitchen as he left, swinging around and heading for the stairs. He ignored the tension in his legs, the same tension that had been humming up and down his spine ever since they’d arrived at Bobby’s, leaving him jittery and restless—he knew getting to crash for more than three hours at a stretch in a _familiar_ bed would go a long way to curing that. Holy hell, it was going to be good to _sleep_ for once instead of just _nap_.

Dean couldn’t help but wince at every creak the floorboards made as he made his way to his room, afraid he was gonna wake up the whole house with all the noise. But he knew he wouldn’t, and so just turned the doorknob to his room, and the light was already on—

Because this was not actually his room. It was Cas’s room. But goddammit, he slept in there all the time. It was fine that he’d hung a left when he should’ve swung a right. So what if he’d come in here? The other room was just a couch—maybe he just wanted to sleep in a _bed_.

He forced his knees to unlock as he slipped inside, staring at Cas over there, just sitting on the bed in a T-shirt and a pair of shorts; a book was open in his hands but he didn’t look like he was reading and was instead just staring at the wall. Bobby always complained that it creeped him out, the way Cas would sort of power down sometimes and just sit there for an hour or two, staring at absolutely nothing. Well, there were worse things he could do when he was bored.

Coughing, Dean shut the door behind him, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the floor. “Hey, Cas,” he muttered.

Cas was already standing up, his eyes locked on Dean. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean nodded pointlessly. “It’s, uh—” He blew out a breath. “Man, it’s good to be home. For a while this time, I hope. Been a hellacious half a year,” he went on.

“You helped a lot of people,” Cas replied benignly.

“Yeah, well,” Dean sighed, slowly making his way across the room, winding up next to Cas because Cas was next to the bed and the bed was what he wanted. Dammit. “Then I think I’ve earned a week or two of rest.”

“You have.”

Cas was just such a stunning conversationalist. “Okay,” Dean said, clearing his throat again. “So—think I’ll turn in. If it’s okay with you.”

“Of course.”

Yes, because everything Dean did was fine with Cas. He knew that. So now he was going to just go around Cas to his side of the bed and he was going to get into it and he was going to sleep. He was tired. He just wanted to rest up. He’d not had a decent night’s sleep in five months, among other things, and he just wanted—

Two steps later and they’d collided, Cas’s fingers were knotted in Dean’s hair while Dean’s arms were around him like a vice, and his heartbeat went from zero to ludicrous speed in two seconds as he kissed Cas, _his_ Cas, kissed him with everything he had, stumbling backwards until the backs of Cas’s knees hit with the mattress and they both toppled over, and not even that stopped their grappling because Dean _needed_ to get his hands on _skin_ —on _Cas’s_ skin, because he was warm and soft and here and he was _Cas_.

_God, I missed you._


End file.
